My name is Kristina and I am FAT.

I have been secretly reciting this to myself lately. Not as a way to keep me down but rather as a way to remind myself of a reality that I have spent years running from. See, it was not until I saw myself next to my very weight-conscious friends from work that I started to really understand just what I have done to myself.

Most of my work friends weigh between 130-140 pounds, shop at the designers boutiques, and never have to worry if the latest company Unity shirt will fit. They are not afraid to be seen eating a cookie or brownie lest someone think, “that’s exactly why your ass is a big as a house.” And yet, listening to them throw insults at themselves- “I’m disgusting,” or “I’m gross”- was a constant source of sadness for me. After all, if they thought they were disgusting at 140 pounds, then they must look at me in fright and disgust.

I understand that even skinny people have body-image issues, but this blog is not about them. It is about me and what hearing them did to me. I  admit that at a certain point I just tucked that rage away only to dig it out as I plowed through another order of wings- OK, wings, and quesodilla, and two slices of pizza- from the local pizza joint. And as the weight steamrolled me, I would avoid looking in mirrors, or shopping, or eating in public. I would hide.

The truth is hard to hide however. It always manages to seep into the light and no matter what we do to cast a shadow over it, eventually it’s rays are so strong that there is nothing left to do but accept it-… Continue reading →